


Paper Chains & Chocolate Flowers

by wickersnap



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Fred Weasley Lives, Friends to Lovers, Genderbending, Getting Together, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Mistletoe, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Temporary gender changes, honestly a bit nonsense, it's all fun and games and just a little bit sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24098077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickersnap/pseuds/wickersnap
Summary: Harry smiles. “I think you were right, last night.”“Hm?” George hums. “I’m always right. What was I right about?”“I like you better like this.”
Relationships: Harry Potter/George Weasley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 256





	Paper Chains & Chocolate Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> I decided I really needed some short, sweet (happy) fluff for these two. Not quite sure where the inspiration came from, but I went with it. Do enjoy.

“Merry Christmas!” comes the shout from the door. Harry smiles and places his tea carefully on an end table. His legs have gone stiff underneath him, and he takes a moment to wince and stretch them out before heaving himself from his armchair and making his way towards the kitchen.

“Fred!” he hears Ginny laugh as she rushes over to meet them. “Oh goodness, who’s this?”

“Not another long lost cousin is it?” asks Ron.

“Merry Christmas,” says a new, rather disgruntled voice. For some reason, though he's probably just mad, Harry gets the distinct feeling he knows it.

“More like a long lost sibling,” Bill says. Harry peeks around the archway to see the expected—Ron, Ginny, Bill and Charlie all gathered around the back door. What’s less expected, for many reasons, is the sight they’ve come to. 

Fred closes the door behind himself and a new, mystery girl, grinning maniacally, as if all of his Christmases have come at once. As per their joking, this girl is startlingly like the rest of the Weasleys; she’s ginger, stands very nearly as tall as Fred (with a shoulder breadth to match), and is covered in freckles. She’s dressed in too-large jeans and a jumper, and her hair is neatly wavy down her back. She sighs irritably and glowers at Fred, firm arms crossed over her chest in a way that screams of insecurity.

“Who—?” Harry begins. Pauses. Everyone turns to look at him. The girl clears her throat. She really is rather pretty. It’s almost distracting.

“Where's George?” he asks instead.

Behind them the front door bursts open, and a whirl of frizzy brown hair comes flying in to meet them. 

“Oh, is everyone here now?” Hermione asks, shaking snow out of her hair. “Mrs Weasley’s still discussing gardening with Percy—who’s this?”

“That’s a point,” Ginny says, tilting her head towards Fred with a frown. “Where is George?”

Fred licks his lips and wiggles his eyebrows in a completely baffling gesture. They all stare at him, but he doesn’t say a word. It might be the quietest he’s ever been, outside of the hospital. The girl sighs heavily and shifts her weight to her other foot. 

“Here,” she says, and lifts a hand to pull her hair briefly behind her missing left ear. She continues scowling at the floor while everyone blinks; stares. 

And then they burst into laughter.

“No way!” Ron guffaws. “No  _ way _ have you done that!”

“How on Earth did you manage  _ that?” _ Hermione manages between snorts. “Haven’t you—haven't you reversed it yet?”

“This is brilliant,” Charlie wheezes, slapping his thigh as he bends double to catch his breath. “I can't believe—“

Harry himself is leaning against the wall and attempting, badly, to contain his fits of giggles. He can’t help it, really; George just looks so completely peeved by the whole affair and Fred is absolutely losing it over his (her?) shoulder, making the hilarity all the more contagious.

“If you’re all done arsing around,” George snaps, “I’d like to blame  _ him _ for being a complete and utter incompetent idiot.” He jabs a thumb at Fred, who is almost on his knees.

“Your—your  _ faces!” _ he cackles. “You should’ve seen your  _ faces!” _

George huffs and kicks him in the ankle. “All right, very funny. Please, for the love of Merlin, give me the antidote.”

“I told you,” Fred says, grinning up at him (…her?). “I don’t have one.”

“Holy shit,” Harry hears Bill mutter behind his hand. He’s turned away to lean on the counters in a poor attempt at remaining dignified, but Harry can see the shaking of shoulders quite well from the other side of the room.

“What’s this happening with all of you?” asks the newly appeared Mrs Weasley. She shrugs off her coat and toes off her boots and frowns lightly at the continued snickering and giggling. By now Ginny is utterly incapacitated on the floor, laughing so hard that the shrieks have lost their sound. Mrs Weasley stares around at them all, doing a double take when her gaze lands on George and sending Fred into fresh bouts.

“George!” she says after a moment. “Why on Earth do you look like  _ that?” _

“It wasn’t really a choice, Mum,” George says, trying to look disparaging but foiled by the twitching of a smile at his lips. “Fred messed up the dosage of the Gender-Lender Ganaches and made me test them for him. I’m waiting for it to wear off.”

“My goodness,” she says, hurrying over to look her son-turned-daughter over carefully. “You’re all right, aren’t you? No other side-effects? No unpleasant surprises?”

“No, no, they’re perfectly fine,” he assures her, pulling her hands away from his face and grinning openly now. “How could you tell it was me?”

She smiles and runs a hand over his (silky, gorgeous) hair. “I always know my children, darling. And I certainly know whose clothes these are!”

“Speaking of,” Fred says brightly. George whirls around to him with a panicked expression, but before he can stop him, Fred continues, “He’s had to borrow a few things of Angelina’s, you know, so play nicely and no chocolate fights or pushing him in the pond!”

Ginny shrieks again and rolls over on the floor. 

“How’s—how’s that working out, Georgie?” she asks between gasps. “She didn’t, she didn’t make you wear a—a thong or anything, did she?” She cackles even harder at her own joke. “God, I hope she has!”

“No,” George says petulantly, though he flushes pink and fails to subtly readjust his waistband. Harry can see the way he’s flexing his chest, moving his jumper around as if it itches, and suddenly realises what all the discomfort's about.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, choking on his spit and wondering if they're all going to die of asphyxiation.

“Well, at least you’re a looker, eh?” Fred says, but now George really looks murderous.

“Oh, good lord!” says the voice of Mr Weasley. He pops up beside Harry, finally returned from the shed. “Who’s this then?”

“Your son, Mr Weasley,” Hermione says, working valiantly to keep her face straight. “He's had an, um, a workplace accident.”

“Workplace accident, you say?” he repeats. “George, is that you?”

“Yes,” George sighs. “I could really do with that antidote about now, Fred.”

“Well I really don’t have one!” Fred protests. He turns out his pockets, but there really is nothing to see except the presents they’ve shrunken and brought with them. 

George whines and throws his head back, exposing a lot of pale throat. Harry looks between him, as a her, and Fred, and tries to pick out all of the George difference and the girl differences between them. There are a lot.

“Are we going to sit down, or are we going to stand in here all day?” asks Mrs Weasley. “I do have food to prepare, you know! Go on, clear out, or you won’t get your dinner!”

“No dinner on Christmas Eve?” says Bill.

“Unthinkable,” Charlie gasps.

“Go on, or I’ll make you peel the potatoes!”

Every single one of them clear out of the kitchen in record time, launching themselves into the living room and onto the multitude of squashy sofas. Harry manages to reclaim his armchair and his tea, throwing a warming charm over it to try to counter his neglect.

“So,” Ron says, after they’ve all calmed down. “What’s it like on the other side of the fence?”

Of course, that sets them all off again, until Percy comes in and does a double, no,  _ triple _ take, and then they’re all well on the way to laughing themselves completely hoarse. 

Harry curls his knees up into his chest and hides back behind his mug, but George catches his eye anyway and grins. Harry grins back, ignoring the squirming feeling he gets in his stomach, and revels in the warmth and happiness settling softly behind his diaphragm.

\- x -

“Fancy meeting you here,” George says as he slides into his seat at the table.

“Come here often?” Harry asks, passing him the mash.

George laughs. “Funnily enough, I do. To what do I owe the pleasure of sitting beside Mr Harry Potter?”

“You chose to sit next to me,” Harry says. “Carrots?”

“Many thanks.” George takes the dish and serves himself before passing it along. He grimaces and pulls his hair out of his plate, throwing it back over his shoulder. “I really don’t know how you and Ginny do it, you know? This is getting really annoying.”

“Hairband?” Harry offers, rolling one off his wrist and holding it out.

George smiles and takes it, flicking his hair into a ponytail with practised ease. “Cheers.”

“So, how long was the potion supposed to last again?” asks Ron.

“About five or ten minutes,” Fred says. “I wonder what it was I missed…”

“Your brain, probably,” Ginny says.

Fred grins. “Don’t worry, it’s not permanent. I think.”

“I think he looks rather lovely,” Fleur says, smiling and propping baby Victoire on Bill’s knee.

“It’s a funny story,” Fred continues. “I asked my brother to try out a new product, you see. I only turned my back for two seconds, and when I looked back there’s this pretty bird standing there in his place, no brother to be found! If he doesn’t come back soon I might even begin to miss him.”

“Don’t be gauche, Fred,” Percy admonishes.

Beside Harry, little Teddy giggles into his hands and knocks his plastic spoon off his high chair.

“Careful, Ted,” Harry murmurs, smiling when he just giggles harder. He cleans off the spoon and gives it back to him solemnly. “Now you make sure to eat your greens, young man, or Granny will shout at me for being irresponsible, okay?”

“’Kay!” Teddy says brightly, waving the spoon in the air, as far from his vegetables as possible.

“You know kids,” Ginny laughs. “They’ll tell you they will and then hide them under their cutlery.”

“Teddy’s a good boy,” Hermione says proudly, reaching over to run her hand through his fluffy blonde hair. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Teddy giggles again and claps his hands.

“I reckon he’s just as much of a troublemaker as the rest of us,” George says. He leans in across Harry to add, in a loud stage whisper, “Don’t listen to Aunt Hermione, she’s broken even more rules than I have!”

Harry leans back slightly, so he doesn’t get a face full of hair. Teddy is practically shrieking with delight at all of the attention, but Harry can’t help but be distracted by the warm, gentle scent of George that seems to make itself inescapable.

“Don’t encourage him now!” says Mrs Weasley, rescuing Teddy’s plate before it’s overturned. “We have our hands full already!”

“There can’t be much we haven’t already handled, dear,” Mr Weasley chuckles.

“Don’t jinx it,” Ron says darkly. “God knows what’ll happen.”

Most of dinner is spent discussing Bill’s new position at Gringotts, Percy’s escapades in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Mr Weasley’s latest additions to his collections, and Fred and George’s new seasonal inventions.

“Snow Globe Shutters, we called them,” Fred says. “Traps the target in a giant version of one of those muggle snow globes for a few minutes.”

“With real snow and everything,” George adds.

“But can you make sweets that’ll turn you back into a man?” Charlie asks.

“Oh, shut up,” George sighs. “Fred won’t give me the potion.”

“We don’t know what it could do!” Fred argues. “I’d rather not get you stuck somewhere in the middle, would you?”

George glares at him. “As if that’s gonna happen.”

Harry glances between them, biting down on a smile. Fred catches his eye briefly and winks.

“I swear, if I’m not back to normal by tomorrow I’m apparating back and taking it anyway.”

“And spoil the fun?” Bill says.

“I thought you were on my side, you traitor,” George pouts. Harry covers his mouth as he chews in case he starts laughing. 

“And you,” George mutters, and pokes him in the side. Harry jerks away and snorts unattractively, unable to keep himself from laughing anymore. “I thought we were tight.”

George smiles at him with such a fondness in his eyes that Harry must be dreaming, he must be making it up, because if he didn’t know better he’d be thinking George might just be as besotted with him as he is George.

“Who’s for dessert?” Mrs Weasley asks, and Harry can’t thank her enough for the distraction.

\- x -

“Chocolate, Harry?” Ginny asks, offering him the plate.

“Cheers,” he says from his lazy sprawl on the sofa, choosing one in the shape of a rose. It’s strawberry centred and is a perfect balance between richness and sweetness, and he smiles his thanks to Ginny as she picks one for herself.

His chest feels tight, suddenly, a little warm and a little bubbly. He frowns and presses his hand to his sternum as the bubbling rises to his skin… It feels like  _ polyjuice. _

“Fred!” he shouts, sitting up so quickly he almost tips onto the floor. His skin is  _ crawling. _

“Harry!” Percy hisses, “you’ll wake up Fleur and—oh, Merlin.”

“What is it, Harry?” Fred asks innocently, poking his head through from the kitchen. “Something amiss?”

_ “Fred!” _ cries George. Harry turns to look at the rest of the Weasleys, who are all, once again, trying to contain their laughter. He looks down at himself and—ah. Yes. Those aren’t meant to be there.

“Don’t worry!” Fred tells them. “I think I’ve fixed the dosage.”

“What do you mean, you  _ think?” _ Harry squeaks. His voice sounds ridiculous. He looks down at his hands, thinner and somehow less calloused than usual, and his wrists that now look all too easy to snap. His jeans feel very odd around his hips and tighter on his thighs, and he suddenly has a whole new empathy for George.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Fred says, “you’re just as gorgeous as ever.”

With the giggling and snickering behind him, Harry is hard pressed not to laugh himself. 

“Does anyone have a mirror?” Ron asks. Hermione twirls her wand and conjures one, and he leaps up to hold it out to Harry. 

Harry almost chokes when he sees his reflection, which is, frankly, completely bizarre. His glasses are still wonky and he still has his scar, but everything else is just different enough to be unsettling. His eyelashes are a little longer and it looks like there are a few more of them, and his lips are a little more bowed than usual. He wonders if they were his mother’s.

“Harry,” Ginny giggles, “would you like a jumper?”

Harry glances down at the front of his t-shirt again and feels his face flush hotly, reaching out to take the offered cover and slipping it quickly over his head.

“What’s up?” asks Charlie, leaning precariously over the bannister. “Oh, Harry! Is that you? You look wonderful!”

“I love what you’ve done with your hair,” Fred says agreeably. Harry startles and shoves a hand into his ponytail, which makes them all laugh harder. Nothing’s actually changed, so he scowls playfully at Fred. 

“This better wear off when you said it should.”

“I feel that’s very insensitive,” George huffs. Harry laughs.

“Sorry mate, but you did sign up for it.”

“What should we call you now?” Bill asks cheekily. “Harriet? Heather?”

“Harley?” Charlie suggests.

Harry screws up his nose. “That sounds too American. How about none of those and stick to Harry?”

“Haroletta?” Ron suggests.

“That is definitely not a real name,” Percy snorts.

“How many of these are spiked, then?” Hermione asks, peering suspiciously at the plate.

“Well, that one is,” Fred says, pointing to a wide-eyed Ginny who’s very obviously just swallowed the thing. She yelps and stumbles backwards, almost tripping into Hermione’s lap. Hermione catches her as they watch her skin shift and change, and, in a matter of moments, leaves her looking quite a lot sharper, physically, and much more interested in wringing Fred’s neck. 

He grins and ducks back into the kitchen, laughing madly as she chases him out the back door.

“Was that Ginny I just saw?” asks Mr Weasley, coming in with fresh mugs of tea. “Oh, Harry! I see Fred hasn’t learnt his lesson yet.”

“He says he fixed the dosage,” Harry says, smiling as he receives his tea. “Should wear off in a bit.”

“All while I’m  _ stuck,” _ George moans, throwing himself dramatically onto the sofa next to Harry. Harry holds his tea up and out of the way of wayward arms, saving himself from spilling it over his lap when George decides to prop himself up against Harry’s side. “I’ll never be able to show my face at the shop again!”

“Come now, it’s not that bad!” says Mr Weasley. “He says it’ll wear off eventually.”

“I know Mum said she’d been desperate for a girl before Gin, but I never thought he’d try to sacrifice me to the cause,” he complains. “He’s not even the least bit sorry.”

Muffled shouts and shrieks drift through to them from outside.

“Is it really that bad?” Hermione asks. George sighs and flings his arm out, off the sofa. 

“I feel like I want to vibrate out of my  _ skin. _ It’s so  _ weird _ and  _ wrong _ and it sets my teeth on edge.”

“It’s not forever,” Bill reminds him, once again.

“Is that a personal thing or a side effect?” Harry asks curiously, gazing down at him. His hair has fallen out of its tie and is splayed over Harry’s leg and the sofa. Harry can feel his voice reverberate against his thigh and every movement of his jaw. It’s a little bit maddening, and he’s actually quite thankful that he currently doesn’t have anything that could, well…  _ give him away _ so obviously.

“Personal, I think,” George grumbles. He settles more firmly into Harry and closes his eyes. “Maybe if I go to sleep I’ll wake up and be back to normal.”

“Or maybe it’ll all have been a dream,” says Charlie, sarcastically.

“More like a nightmare, having to wear this bloody thing,” he mutters, plucking at his bra strap through his jumper.

“You could have gone without,” Ron points out, looking confused. “It’s not like you need it, is it?”

“It’s a comfort thing, Ron,” Hermione sighs. “It’s for support, and some people feel like it preserves their dignity.”

“I mean, I understand why Harry took Ginny’s jumper,” Ron says. “But he’s a bit, well,  _ bigger _ than George, isn’t he?” 

Hermione smacks him on the arm.

“I can hear you, you arse,” George says. His eyes are still closed, but he’s trying not to laugh. Charlie looks like they’re the best entertainment he could have ever asked for, and Bill is laughing into his mug. Mr Weasley is, thankfully, pretending he can’t hear a word his son is saying.

“Mmf!” Harry squawks when the uncomfortable bubbling sensation returns. It’s a very odd sensation, to feel yourself stretching back into your body, he decides, but it’s over blessedly quickly.

“And now you’re all bony again,” George sighs. “Oh well, never mind. I like you better like this, anyway.”

“Thanks, I think,” Harry says, setting his mug aside to take Ginny’s jumper off before he stretches it. He jumps again when cold fingers slide across his waist where his shirt’s pulled up.

“Jesus you’re cold,” he mutters, and tries not to feel as horribly turned on as he thinks he is. It has clearly been far, far too long since he last had sex.

“Warm me up, then,” George mumbles, and curls his hands atop the small pudge of Harry’s stomach.

Harry sighs and folds Ginny’s jumper over his front, holding it against the backs of George’s hands. They’re smaller than they usually are, have been changed by the potion like Harry’s had, and have fewer burn scars and calluses. 

Harry’s just glad he worked out his sexuality a few years ago, otherwise he’s sure his poor, fuddled little mind would have been going into overdrive big time.

Ginny and Fred stumble back inside eventually, damp and cold and slightly worse for wear but all back to normal. Mrs Weasley fusses around making hot chocolate and bundling them into blankets. Harry goes to throw Ginny back her jumper but she grins and waves it away, gaze flicking from him to George and back again knowingly. Harry tries to roll his eyes but can feel himself blushing, again, and that only ever serves to make her teasing worse, anyway.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asks George, quietly.

“’M fine, Harry,” he murmurs. “I’ll just poison Fred’s food when we go back to the shop if I’m not back to normal.”

Harry hums. “Don’t make it too permanent, your mum might miss him.”

“Yeah, probably. She’s daft like that.” He smiles. “I’ll enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts.”

\- x -

Harry is almost bowled over by Hermione when she flings herself off the sofa and into his arms.

“Thank you!” she says, pressing her cheek to his ear and squeezing his rib cage to cracking. “Thank you, Harry. I love it.”

“It’s no problem,” Harry says, smiling and hugging her back. He feels tiny hands curl into his jumper as Teddy reaches up to join in, and they both pull back to fuss over him.

“Aren’t you just delightful,” Hermione murmurs, pulling him into her lap as she shuffles over to sit at Ron’s feet. Harry is dead certain every single child in this house will grow up spoiled, with so many aunts and uncles and cousins to fawn over them, and he can’t think of any way he’d rather have it. He’s also pretty sure Hermione’s halfway convinced she’s going to need one of her own soon.

Ron kisses the top of Hermione’s head and pulls her hair to the side so he can fix the little locket around her neck. It’s a small thing Harry had actually made himself, sort of; a dark metal book-shaped thing engraved with an Othala rune—a symbol meaning heritage, possession. Inside it are two tiny, shrunken photographs, one of Hermione with her parents on her nineteenth birthday, and one of Hermione between himself and Ron taken sometime during their fifth year in the DA. 

Hermione smiles and runs her fingers along the inscription on the locket’s surface.

“Harry, my good man!” says George, dropping down very suddenly next to him on the rug. “Come and have a word, we have things to discuss!”

Much to his very loud, unmistakable consternation, George is still very much in possession of his new curves and long hair. He had turned up to breakfast with his nose in the air as he refused to speak to Fred, though neither of them were ever very far from breaking character when their faces twitched and their eyes gleamed with mirth.

“What’s the news?” Harry asks, happily following him into the hall and onto the stairs. George stops halfway up to the first landing and leans in, and Harry’s heart makes a concerted effort to escape through his windpipe.

“I’m thinking  _ payback,” _ George says, voice low. “What would you say to throwing some pompion potion into his mug? Or we could always go with the classics, find a little dizziness draught or silencing solution.”

“Do you really have all of those to hand?” Harry asks, glancing downstairs to check for eavesdroppers. “I like the idea of a pompion potion, but couldn’t we just go with a quick melofors?”

George smiles and places a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“My dear Harry,” he says, “the one thing you need to know about revenge is that it’s the  _ execution _ that matters the most. If we just jinx him he’ll know right away that it was us. It’s quick and it’s effective, maybe, but you lose all of the buildup, the drama! You understand that, I’m sure?”

Harry grins and nods. His ears are buzzing faintly and maybe he’s only getting the general gist when he can feel George’s breath on his neck and the warmth of his hand through his jumper, but he can understand the need for some style and flair.

“If we manage to get it into whatever it is he’s eating without him noticing, that reward will be all the more satisfying when he does it to himself, don’t you think? Now what I need you to do, my good sir, is to be the best partner in crime a man could ask for. I need you to run distraction while I make the preparations, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry breathes. “Brilliant. I can do that.”

“Brilliant,” George repeats, and the slow spread of his smile is really doing something to Harry’s gut that he’d rather not find out about any time soon.

“Oh,” Harry says, finally remembering the thing in his hand. “I was going to give you this. Merry Christmas.”

He holds out a silver-wrapped present and smiles, hoping to anything listening that he doesn’t look like a complete weirdo. George blinks and looks down at the box for a moment before taking it gently from Harry’s hands. 

“You know you don’t have to get me anything, right?” he says.

Harry laughs gently. “Why wouldn’t I?” he says. “We have this conversation every year. I do it because I want to.”

“Thank you,” George tells him. “Can I open it?”

Harry gives him a look. “No, you can only look at it from the outside.” 

“All right, all right, I get it.” George begins to peel back the tape on each of the flaps, unfolding them until he can slide the box out of the paper. He glances up at Harry before he lifts the lid, and Harry squirms. 

“Sorry it’s not, er, much,” he says, feeling rudely and abruptly inadequate. “But I thought you could get some brilliant ideas out of them for the shop.”

“These are muggle comics, aren’t they?” George says, looking excited and anxious and curious all at once as he flips through the pages. “You told us about them back at Hogwarts.”

“I put a few different ones in; Star Wars, Spider-Man, the like… They’re some of my favourites, actually.”

“Thank you,” George murmurs, seemingly transfixed by the print. “Thank you, Harry.”

Harry is, for the second time in about five minutes, wrapped up in a surprise, bone-crushing hug. He sways backwards, hands coming up to fist in George’s jumper. It feels very odd that this is not at all like hugging George, not with the extra lightness of his frame and the obvious tits pressed to Harry’s chest. No, it’s more like hugging a Ginny-shaped person with George’s smell and personality, but it’s no less welcome.

“It’s all right,” Harry says a little croakily. “I thought you might enjoy them.”

“Of course I will!” George assures him, pulling back and clutching the box in front of himself. “I’ll go up and put these away and keep them safe, and then I’ll get the potions, okay?”

“Sounds good,” Harry agrees, grinning back. He tries to turn and head back down the stairs, mind already searching for topics to distract Fred with, when he finds, suddenly, that his feet have been glued to the wooden floorboards. 

“Oh no,” he says slowly, “this isn’t another prank, is it?”

“Oh,  _ shit,” _ George hisses, meeting Harry’s gaze only for a moment and with wide eyes and a harshly bitten lip. “It’s not. Well, not really. Um…”

It’s not a prank. Wonderful.

Harry takes a second to take a nice, steadying breath, and looks up.

Of course, he’s met with none other than dreaded, ever hoped-for sight of freshly-clipped mistletoe.

“It’s not going to let us go, is it?” he asks. He tries to sound resigned, he really does, but he’s just that little bit too excited about the whole thing for it to sound entirely sincere.

“I’d assume not,” George says, peering upwards. He swallows, and Harry’s eyes are drawn instantly to the movement.

“So… For revenge?”

George startles very slightly and looks back down at him, another smile stealing across the lips that almost all of Harry’s focus is now irrevocably drawn to.

“For revenge,” he says. He flicks the tip of his tongue over his top lip and Harry has to swallow down the anxiety creeping up his throat. He places a nervous, feather-light hand at George’s hip before he begins to lean in and up, and at least George is also leaning into him, because his eyes slip closed much too soon to the over-rapid metronome of his heartbeat.

George’s lips are soft and warm. They’re soft and warm and gorgeous and utterly irresistible, and Harry can’t help the small rush of breath that leaves through his nose at the contact. The both of them are still for a quiet moment, serenaded by the buzz of incoherent thoughts ringing in Harry’s ears.

And then George’s mouth moves underneath his with a tiny sound, and Harry practically melts. He locks his knees and curls his fingers into George’s jumper again in his best attempt to stay upright. George pushes back into the kiss with the same timid enthusiasm as Harry and it’s wonderful—heart-stopping, even—and it feels like free-falling. He surrenders the very instant George’s tongue brushes against his lips, falling dangerously into a warm, open-mouthed snog that feels much, much more intimate than necessary.

George makes a sudden noise of surprise against his mouth. Harry’s eyes fly open and they part gently, still gasping each other’s air. George takes his hands from Harry’s waist and watches his broom calluses grow back with fascination. His hair recedes to its normal length, the ends of his curling fringe just brushing his ears.

George swallows, and Harry’s eyes are drawn, this time, to the definite bob of his Adam’s apple.

At the bottom of the stairs, someone whistles loudly.

“Now, now, is this a Christmas Miracle I see?” Fred says. Harry jumps and pulls away, hands unclenching hurriedly from George’s jumper.

“True love’s kiss, I’d say!” Charlie adds, grinning up at them over Fred’s shoulder.

“Ribbit, ribbit!” Ginny heckles from the living room.

“I wasn’t a  _ frog!” _ George protests. He stops and frowns. “Oh god, I’m still wearing Angelina’s bra. Give me a second lads.”

He grimaces and dashes off upstairs to a chorus of more laughter. Harry stares after him, only jolted from his daze when a bedroom door slams.

“You all right there, Harry?” Ron asks gleefully.

“Fine,” he says, a little breathless. He licks his lips and runs his thumb and forefinger over the corners of his mouth uncertainly. “Did you just set us up?”

“No,” Fred says, but it doesn’t sound very convincing. “You know what? I’m thinking we should make another version of those sweets, a little prolonged, see, for those who enjoy a more exciting lifestyle... I suppose they might need to go behind the age line, but I can work on it.”

“I’m counting on you, Harry!” comes a muffled shout from upstairs. Fred raises his eyebrows at him, but Harry just shrugs. 

“Who knows,” he says. “Maybe I should go and ask.”

He ignores the whispered comments and Hermione’s reprimanding that follow him up, heading cautiously towards the twins’ old bedroom. He knocks on the door, twice, before letting himself in.

“George?” he says. “You all right?”

“Harry?” George replies, tugging a t-shirt over his head. “Oh, I’m fine! Enjoying having my own bloody body back, if I’m honest.”

Harry leans into the smile that pulls at the corner of his lips. He can see Angelina’s bra on top of the duvet next to George, some blue, flowery thing with birds on it, and the way George is rubbing a hand across his chest.

“I don’t know how girls stand those things,” he says. “Bloody murder after a while.”

“I think it’s practise,” Harry says. He crosses the room slowly, mindful of the ingredients case between the beds that seems to have regurgitated half of its contents onto the floor. George pats the bed beside him so Harry perches there, watching and being watched in return. It’s a heady feeling.

“Do you feel better now?” he asks.

“Less like I want to scratch my skin off? Yes. And there’s much less unusual chafing.”

Harry smiles. “I think you were right, last night.”

“Hm?” George hums. “I’m always right. What was I right about?”

“I like you better like this.”

Harry lets his gaze stray down George’s neck and shoulder, down the length of his arm to where his hand rests in the covers. When he meets George’s eyes again the breath is knocked from his lungs by the intensity of his look, by the sheer  _ want. _

Harry wants it to be want, at least. He wants, so badly, for George’s stare to mean the same as his. He wants to hold his hand and dance with him to stupid songs on the radio downstairs, and he wants to kiss him even when they’re not being held captive by sentient mistletoe.

“Would it be too weird to tell you I’ve liked you since I was eighteen?” George murmurs into the quiet. Harry swallows. 

“Not if I tell you I liked you at fifteen,” he replies, barely above a whisper.

“Is that… Still?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes. “More than ever.”

He inhales sharply as George surges forward to bring their lips together again. His left hand, the one he’s not leaning on, goes straight to George’s jaw, pulling him closer until he’s bearing down on him. Harry opens his mouth and licks tentatively into George’s mouth even as he lies back in the sheets and lets George keep him pinned with his weight.

“They’ll be waiting for us downstairs,” he mutters when George pulls back by millimetres to look him in the eye.

“Five minutes isn’t a crime,” George replies, smiling widely and tilting his head to nip at Harry’s jaw. Harry makes an embarrassing noise and buries his fingers in George’s hair. He tugs on it after a few moments to bring him back up to his mouth, where he kisses him hungrily and with little mind for the way he’s arching up into George’s arms. His glasses are skewed and completely fogged from their heavy breathing, but his eyes are too tightly closed for him to give a toss. All he knows is that he wants George’s mouth on him, anywhere, everywhere, forever, starting yesterday. He can’t even tell where one kiss ends and the next one starts.

“Oh, fucking hell,  _ finally,” _ says a startling loud voice behind them, and Harry jumps so hard he thinks he’s going to have a heart attack. George almost falls backwards off the bed, but manages to keep his balance by grabbing painfully onto Harry’s forearm. Neither of them had heard the handle turn, apparently, but Ginny is stood clear as day in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” George asks, voice conspicuously high and breathless.

“Sure,” she says. “Mum wants you down to help with Christmas dinner.”

“Sure, Gin,” Harry says. “Down in a sec.”

“I seem to remember George saying that sometime twenty minutes ago,” she retorts with an evil smile, because she’s evil like that.

“Oh bugger off, will you?” George huffs. “Tell Mum we’ll be down.”

Her smile softens as she turns to leave, pulling the door to behind her. “Congrats, you two,” she calls over her shoulder. “Glad you got your heads out of your arses.”

“Thanks, you nosy shit!” George calls after her. He looks down at Harry, whose thighs he’s still straddling and whose arm he’s still holding, though less tightly than before. Both of them are still breathing a little harshly, and Harry feels a laugh breaking through—from relief or happiness or Ginny’s interruption he doesn’t know, maybe all three—and in moments they’re both cracking up as hard as they were yesterday.

“Come on, George,” Harry says, trying to pull himself together by parts. “They really will be waiting for us, this time.”

George tries to pout and rests his chin on Harry’s chest, but it just makes them laugh again and he ends up hiding in Harry’s jumper.

“Come  _ on, _ George! They’ll send Ginny up again!”

“Okay, okay! I’m getting up! No more threats of Ginny!”

Harry laughs again, and takes the hand George offers to pull him up. He sways forward on his feet and takes the opportunity to press another small kiss to George’s lips, and George smiles and shifts their hands to twine their fingers.

“To the kitchen, your Highness?” he asks grandly.

Harry grins. “To the kitchen, partner in crime.”

George throws his head back and laughs, and Harry thinks he might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr!](https://silverxsakura.tumblr.com/)


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